Among the Black Roses at the Close of the Day
by Hydok
Summary: For BZPower's Short Story contest #5. The theme was "Luvre" XD


_Black roses symbolize death, hatred, farewell, rejuvenation or rebirth, but also slavish devotion, since a true black rose is impossible to produce…_

She was what the others (Miserax and Icarax and Kojol and more) considered "second-rate", made five hundred years after the creation of the original Makuta. Made by the others, the first-made, because their pride would not allow them to rest until they proved their worth as creators. And so she (and others like her) was condemned to a life as assistants and servants of the other Makuta, who by virtue of the time of their creation had claimed a place higher than she could ever aspire to.

"They might say that, but we're not the mistakes. They are. We are the perfection of the Makuta. If the Great Beings had been satisfied with the Makuta they created first, they would never have allowed us to be created."

And her breath came faster as she realized that this other Makuta, this Teridax actually believed in his dream. Actually believed that they (called second-rate, extra) were just as good as any other Makuta. And in his case, maybe even better. He was a revolutionary, a reactionary, a leader. He led a quiet rebellion for them (once called second-rate, now holding a place as equals). So she followed him.

She knew that she was no better than any other Makuta, but he was. He was everything that she would never, could never be. She was action and rage and destruction in the blast of a thousand suns, and he was calculation and plots and the hatred and fury of an eternal blizzard. She would follow him everywhere, and leave him in an instant to go anywhere he wanted her to go.

She remembers the times that he complemented her, hordes them like priceless artifacts, like keystones or Great Disks. He noticed her armor, after there was nothing to her form but armor and mist. Complemented her on the acid green and radiant black of her new form. So even after it became clear that their new forms corrupted and rusted the protodermis (anti-dermis and protodermis, forever self-destruction), she still spent time polishing and cleaning her armor, replacing the parts that began to corrode with new pieces that still shone with polishing oil.

Then he announced The Plan. And even though she never did discover all the details, never did find out how exactly it was all going to work, she knew that it would work. It had to work. Teridax was perfection manifested in ceaseless changing mazes of ideas and webs of unstoppable strategy. Was the ideal of a Makuta (beings whose bodies no longer had shape or form, but were ever-changing energy). So she was the first to step forward and pledge her everything towards this Plan (because she had already pledged her everything to him, the first day that she met him).

So she fought and killed and lived and lied and died (or would someday, she knew, even if she would never admit it) for him and The Plan. He was the Great Beings and the Three Virtues to her, and she lived for and by his words and Plan.

Then came the time to actually carry out his Plan (and she knew that if she had still needed to breath she would never have been able to, and her heartlight would have sent off a steady glow as it flickered too quickly to see). And he was their leader and would be their Great Spirit and she would honor him. She would worship him.

The final battle was everything she had dreamed of and more. Days spent fighting the Toa Mata (chosen heroes of Mata Nui and the Makuta) in the very heart of the universe. Her form had mutated, and the mutation had frozen some of her powers, that was true. But he would heal her. He would. He would have all of the power in the universe at his command. And she was his most trusted aide. No matter what Icarax (one of the first-made that she still could never forgive for how they treated her at the beginning of time) did, no matter what Krika claimed, The Plan would be completed.

She realized, staring into the vast swirling depths before her, that she had failed somehow. Chirox tried to pull her away, grabbed her arm with his claws and shook her, but she threw him off. She had failed somehow, failed in her loyalty just as much as Icarax or Krika. And her failure deserved whatever punishment he saw fit to give. So she accepted her death with a burning devotion that hung somewhere between hatred and love.


End file.
